I can still recall that smile, the impish looking grin that inspired me the day that I was about to cross the line of no return with my adorable nine-year old next-door neighbor.
Tabitha lay on the couch watching TV as if in a trance as usual. Her short schoolgirl skirt, obligingly hiking above her knees exposed her childhood innocence to a "pussy starved" sixty-year old horny man with needs, and a low resistance for pussy...young or old.
"Life is so unfair!" I mused as I recalled a recent news piece about an adult male going to jail for doing the same sort of illicit things I was tempted to do at that moment.
My lips smacked as I gazed with focused interest, examining her smooth, luscious inner thighs with a hungry desire. Nothing I could think of seemed more erotic than the imagined magical pleasures, which lay in wait to be discovered between those glistening smooth, untouched seductive beacons of erotic suggestion; the perilous path to her child sexuality.
Without a care I dared while her tiny head lay on my lap. Crumbs from her "after school snack" of animal cookies littered her clothes, and face so I pretended to clean up the playing field, gingerly smoothing my hand over her tummy while drinking in her warmth, and exquisite softness as I glanced at her eyes for the slightest hint of protest.
As a retired, and recently widowed adult, babysitting Tabitha after school while her single mother worked nearly everyday was the only thing I looked forward to in a life otherwise filled with a drab existence. Lonesome as a hermit my days were aimless until my little muse arrived after school each day, always cheerful, and always ready for affectionate hugs, and kisses. But her sexual presence was becoming more persuasive each day. And with every casual touch, and hug the seething, lust driven animal inside of me was busy dealing with the "what ifs?"
Somehow I sensed that with enough patience, and affection Tabitha would allow me a few uninvited attempts to satisfy my curiosity. But numerous clumsy previous attempts had failed. Undaunted, I was willing to wait her out. Subliminal, purposeful seductions began with a casual touch on her back, which led me to her fine curvy butt where smoothing my fingertips over her tight little preteen ass cheeks was tolerated to a point. Caressing her like that filled my heart with warmth, and my balls with heated cravings while a sense of encouragement added futile tries to take advanced liberties in hopes that she would finally embrace her fate.
For days on end I hoped that needful persistence would continue to chip away at her natural resistance to be sexually touched until...
"How come you wanna touch me there?" she blurted with a curious look one day when I slid my hand between her legs after she nestled on my lap for our usual after school hug, and embrace.
"Because you're so damned cute, and too sexy for a child," I admitted jokingly,
"I'm only nine ya know, but my teacher Mr. Parsons says I'm his favorite girl in our class, and he likes me to sit on his lap sometimes after school."
"What does he do when you sit on his lap?" I asked in a curious tone. "He tries to guess what color my panties are, and then I have to kiss him if he guesses the right color."
"Does your teacher touch you when you sit on his lap?" I prodded, wondering how far she had allowed him to go with her sexually.
"Uh huh, but he told me not to tell so I can't say anything cause he might get into trouble."
How much more encouragement did I need than Tabitha's admission of being molested by another adult?"
That moment an internal smile filled me with a rekindled sense of hope, and motivation.
The next day Tabitha bounced into my house after getting off the school bus with her typical happy spirit. Her bright blue innocent eyes sparkled as I hugged her, smoothing my fingers through her fine blond hair, which hung almost to her shoulders.
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Mr Double's Palisade A MrDouble Production:
Changes last made on: Sunday, March 11, 2012